Resigned
by TinaMustDie
Summary: He's not really sure how it started, but he knows how it's gonna end. Oneshot, slightly AU.


Title:Resigned

Author:TinaMustDie

A slightly AU oneshot. Enjoy.

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He's not really sure how it started, but he knows how it's gonna end.

It hurts to be the bad guy, he muses. Although he wonders if he's not the only bad guy anymore. He knows what people have had to do in the midst of war. Happy families reduced to strangers, turning to the darkest of solutions for a chance at a future. Sacrificing their souls in hopes that the world is safer for a few decades. _Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it. _He thinks it's a shame that mankind, wizard and muggle alike, have to experience these things on their own before truly understanding them.

Normally he doesn't think about that. But the alcohol is strong and the atmosphere's depressing. He looks around the shady pub and decides that he likes it. At least this place doesn't hide behind pretenses.

He feels them closing in on him. He smirks, a ghost of what it used to be, but still arrogant, regardless of the bitter undertones. He takes one last swig of his rum, relishing the burn, and walks out of the bar. It's freezing outside, but it's not snowing, and the irony of a black winter right after a devastating war isn't lost on him.

The sidewalks are cracked and the streetlights are broken and it's _so damn ugly._ He loves it. The city he's found on his run from the inevitable is dilapidated and filled with scum. Higher class muggles avoid this place and he can't see why,because he's found some truth here at last and it's _beautiful._

They're catching up, but he keeps his leisurely pace. Running is getting so old.

He strides across an ancient playground, and wonders if he's finally going to put that tetanus shot to use. He takes a seat on the end of the slide, because sitting on the swing would just be cliché, and he's going out with class, or at least originality.

It's a bright night, and the light of the full moon is making his pale skin glow. He thinks he must look ethereal, and is glad they'll find, and remember, him like this, beautiful. Because no matter what else could be said for Draco Malfoy, he was stunning.

He isn't apprehensive, and his life doesn't flash before his eyes, but he doesn't really want it to. It wasn't that much of a life. Although it does feel like he's learned a lot in the seventeen years he's lived. Like how he was resigned from birth to a fate he'd never get to choose, never get to alter, and he thinks maybe that's something he and Potter have in common. But Draco would be dead, and Potter would have to live with himself. Really,he has the merciful destiny. He wouldn't have to wake up in the middle of the night, screaming at memories long past. Draco would never have to remember anything again, and he takes vindictive pleasure in the fact that Harry won't ever be the same.

He feels them coming closer and knows he has only minutes till they arrive. He almost laughs because _he should have seen this coming._ And then he remembers that he did, and chuckles softly because the liquor is making him forget. He wishes he'd discovered the power of alcohol sooner.

But then he hears footsteps on the pavement and finds that he's really not all that drunk. Because these footsteps are loud and clear and he doesn't need to look to know whose they are. So he doesn't. He closes his eyes and breathes in the cold air and feels the slight wind on his face and the smell of the aging metal beneath him, and is grateful that his last sensations are so vivid.

Yes, Draco Malfoy's seen this coming. He knew he was going to die young and Potter was going to live scarred. He knew nothing would change this, so he didn't try. He doesn't quite know how it started, but he's always known how it would end.

The shuffling footsteps come to a halt.

"Took you long enough."He says, eyes still shut.

"Malfoy."

He wonders why this is how all their conversations start. He chalks it up to male posturing, and opens his eyes.

Potter is standing a few feet in front of him, wand pointed at his chest. He can see the forms of a few other aurors stationed around them, close enough to watch, but not to hear. He's sure Granger and Weasley are amongst them.

It's then that he notices Potter shaking. He's pale and tired and _sick._ He doesn't want to kill him. Draco inwardly panics._ Don't do this to me Potter. Don't deny me this._ Something has to be done.

"Don't feel bad. You're exhausted, I know. You've lost so much. You've worked so hard." Draco marvels at the _knowing_ in his own voice.

"But see this through, won't you? Because this is how it has to be. This is the part you have to play, and don't feel bad, because I've already finished mine."

He's telling the truth, but it feels like deceit.

"I am not afraid."

He's never been this honest.

But it helps, and Potter seems to steel himself.

No, he's not sure how it started, but looking Potter in the eye, he wishes he did so that he could change it and maybe it wouldn't have to end this way.

"I'm sorry,"Potter croaks.

"I know."Because even though you hate him, you'll give him what he needs to hear.

"_Avada Kedavra."_


End file.
